


Someday We'll Leave the Light On

by derecho, petrichor (findingkairos)



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence, Gen, Second/Third Shinobi War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-09 03:34:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3234734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derecho/pseuds/derecho, https://archiveofourown.org/users/findingkairos/pseuds/petrichor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is not a question of whether or not we pass the genin exam; it is a question of, Who will be on the team?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. flickering flames of candles in wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're going down this road feeling bad, but not bad enough to stop. The future becomes the present and the present becomes the past. If you cannot kill them, join them.

. . .

It starts with something like this:

In the heat-haze of a summer day, children and dogs alike chase after each other, tripping over cobblestone-paths and medicinal gardens that some of the clan members keep. They laugh without a care in the world, never mind that those around them are regularly soaked in blood.

I run with them – run and run and run, till the sun dies on the horizon and moon rises, till the stars resurrect themselves from the not-dead, till the air clears and scents become sharper, till the darkness throws itself over our home.

Konohagakure.

The Village Hidden In the Leaves. Home of the Will of Fire. It is a contradiction that no one else seems to notice, or care.

Fair enough. This is an abnormal world; what is one more abnormality that will slip by, unnoticed by the masses?

(Not well, but the Inuzuka stand sentry and  _understand_  the burdens of a prodigy. They know better than to out one of their own as a suspected genius. They are not like the Uchiha, who need to flaunt their accomplishments with sneers and alpha-challenges, nor are they like the Hyuuga, with their stiff prides and stiffer sense of their so-called  _'nobility.'_

They watch, and wait, and understand, and under their steady gazes the abnormality is swept away into the wind, its life unremarked upon.)

. . .

This is what happens:

The war ends. Konohagakure licks its wounds, and comes home.

The new generation will live to see a world without war – or at least, that is the hope of the returning.

Hidden Leaf lives to see a new Hokage, and Sarutobi Hiruzen sets it on the path of new life.

(Not healing; never healing, for some. But a new life, a  _better_  life, after the Great War –

That will have to be good enough.)

. . .

The Inuzuka are the Dog Clan; this much is fact. We have ninken as our partners, who we will grow old with, kami-sama willing. We fight with them. We intend to die with them, from the day we receive them.

(In the war, many have. But there are just as many nin that come home without their canine-selves, and just as many ninken that curl up in the clan shrine and wait for death to take them.)

In general, five-years-old is when the Academy takes students. Five-years-old is also when the Inuzuka receive their canine companions.

In the midst of heat-haze and sunlight-raining-down, I and four other Inuzuka children stand before the clan head in the main courtyard. Before the sun takes its place in the center of the sky, we will be considered two halves of a whole.

Nin and ninken.

Some fidget. Some strain themselves, attempt to seek beyond the clan head and snatch a glimpse of the future partners behind him.

I am not they.

Inuzuka Shiga is assigned to Shiromaru, a white dog without a fleck of color on his fur.

(He is small, and short, and today he is scrawny but tomorrow-one-year-two-years-from-now he will be big, and he will be fitting of the name Inuzuka.

She is short and sometimes-too-smart and runs-too-fast and her clansmen worry that one day, she will disappear into the wind, never to return.

They are highly suited for each other.)

Shiromaru whines and tilts his head.

I look at him.

( _You're scary-lookin', you know. All stern and frowny._

"I know."

 _Okay, just thought you might wanna know._  He rolls over and shifts in the courtyard dirt, streaking his pelt with dust.  _Belly-rub?_

We are still children, in the eyes of the village. In the eyes of the world.

And until we graduate from the Academy, until they deem us ready to hold weapons and soak ourselves in blood and die a gruesome death –  _all in the name of the village_  – that is all we will ever be.

I sigh and run small hands over the abdomen.

 _Ha! Got ya to smile!_ )

. . .

At the Academy, we learn weak points. Stealth and its uses. Throwing kunai and shuriken, in addition to taijutsu and ninjutsu. How to injure and kill the human body,  _kunai to the jugular, the spinal cord, the brain –_

At home, we learn to work together with our ninken. Share our lives with them. Become one-mind-two-bodies, learn techniques that morph the body and shred human flesh and bone so easily.

The entirety of the clan teaches its children; there are no single-mother single-fathers here. We are pack.

(It is so much like the mindset of the Hatake Clan, as small as it is, given their Dog Summoning Contract, and is that not a twisted irony? Because everyone in Konoha is a comrade – one of the few truths that the village teaches.

Comrade is war-brother-war-sister is Pack.

And Pack is sacred.)

. . .

In the clan complex, we run.

Run against each other against our ninken against ourselves against the wind. Run and run and  _run,_  until the wind carries us away, chasing wisps of something just out of reach, stars in the dark when they spiral away into the sky, the sun across its journey in the heavens.

It tears the breath out of our lungs and leaves us gasping for breath, but it accomplishes its purpose, and the children laugh and think nothing of it.

The adults have a grim turn to their lips as they look on, and Shiromaru presses himself against my leg, a warm weight by my side.

And we  _run._

. . .

It is not a question of whether or not we pass the genin exam; it is a question of,  _Who will be on the team?_

. . .

Aside from Shiromaru-and-I, the same four other Inuzuka children that I had received my ninken partner alongside graduate from the Academy.

The classroom is nearly empty, the only sounds the scuffles of feet-on-wood and claws-on-wood. The air smells of anticipation and tension – I can see on the faces of my clansmen that they smell it too. We sit down together in the back corner, still a pack-of-ten even though soon we all will be separated.

"Team Three: Inuzuka Mimi…"

One of our own stands up with her dog –  _Mimi-and-Kiiromaru, one of the best at taijutsu –_  and moves to the front of the classroom, then leaves.

Team Four has no one from our corner.

"Team Five: Akimichi Kenji, Inuzuka Shisen…"

Another. Shisen-and-Kuraimaru, ninjutsu-focused. They leave with a skip to their steps and a fierce grin on their faces.

"Team Six: Hatake Sakumo, Inuzuka Shiga…"

Shiromaru nudges my hand, and I rise to my feet and walk to the door.

Outside sun. Clear air. Street-dust and scents-of-life.

The team waits on a Training Ground, and Hatake smells like grass-and-lightning, crackling just underneath the senses. Nara Hisoka is wood-and-soil, from the forest around the Nara Clan.

Our new instructor is blood-and-death and… something else.

Something familiar enough to  _remember,_ but not enough to  _recognize._

_There is something odd._

I know.

"Hello students; I am Utatane Koharu, and I will be your jounin-instructor."

. . .

Later, Shiromaru and I realize – the scent that had been wrapped around our sensei had been of Sarutobi Hiruzen, the Hokage.

(Everyone in the Inuzuka who serves Konoha knows the scent of the Hokage. It's hard not to, since it's from such a distinctive man.

The clan head is the Alpha, but Sarutobi-sama is the  _Hokage._

The Village comes before the Clan.

But in the end, the entire Village is Pack, so no one cares.

No one has a  _need_  to care.)

. . .

("So. You guys been alright?"

Kiiromaru slaps his tail against the floor and slumps. Mimi sighs, her hand tangled in her ninken-partner's fur.

_Not… really._

"I'd have been fine with just Takei, but  _no,_  I got the stupid  _Uchiha_ too _._  He thinks he's so  _good,_  so  _amazing,_  so, so…" Mimi ends the sentence with a half-growl, frustration underlying her scent of anger. Shisen next to her slings an arm over her shoulders and scrubs Mimi's hair.

"Maa, maa, Mimi. Lay off on 'em ol' sticks-in-the-mud. And you, Shiga? How was your team?"

"I got Hatake. And Nara." Shiromaru sighs with me.

There are sympathetic winces around the group, and Hoko snorts while his own partner makes a laugh-snort. "Hatake's fine, but a lazy-ass? Ha. Good luck then."

But Hatake had been surprisingly kind, in that first meeting with Koharu-sensei and the team. Nara had been the epitome of the stereotype of his clan, lazy and unmotivated. But only to those that don't  _look_ , because whatever you do, it's difficult for unknowing genin to hide scent. Especially from an Inuzuka.

And yet. Still. "I'll need it.")

. . .

Sakumo is easy-going, with a quick wit and humor to match. He wields his blade with the swiftness of long-borne practice, and weaves lightning-that-does-not-strike through his fingers.

Hisoka yawns often and complains even more, but dances with the shadows and lays traps with brutal efficiency all the same. He brings lunch offers to host dinner – ( _"All my mother's idea, I swear to kami-sama."_ ) and the rest of us smile and nod along.

Koharu-sensei likes to laugh, a quiet sort of sound, but Inuzuka ears pick up more than people give us credit for. She is the trap-picker of our team, seeing things that we cannot see but are beginning to learn to. Part of it is experience; and yet the larger part is sheer  _talent._

Shiromaru-and-I look around.

_We can work with this._

It'll be interesting, at least.

We throw ourselves into the spar side-by-side, a twist of chakra and will, and –

" _Shikyaku no Jutsu!"_

. . .

Utatane Koharu and Sarutobi Hiruzen are teammates. It makes sense for them to bring their two teams together, to meet.

Team Six meets Team Seven.

The results are…

_Interesting?_

That's a word for it, I suppose.

Sakumo attempts to pull Orochimaru into the conversation, ever-friendly and unwilling to see what the village tells him to see –  _Is that snake that I smell?_  Your nose doesn't lead you astray, Shiromaru. That's a snake-scent alright.  _Well, that explains the stray scales around his shoes, then._  – and Hisoka nods and dozes off to the Senju Princess's ramblings.

Shiromaru-and-I are left standing with Jiraiya. He does not have the Toad Summoning Contract yet, though the smell of damp-water is hovering around him, all the same.

Very… odd habits or not, he is still Konoha-nin. Still Konoha-pack.

"…you wanna know what stupid things my teammates have gotten into these days?"

"…it possibly can't be worse Orochi-teme burning water while attempting to cook, can it?"

We both give him a grin, ignoring the  _"You swore you would never speak about that, Jiraiya!"_  in the background and Sakumo's laughter and Hisoka's sigh and Tsunade-hime's roll-of-eyes. The future-not-yet Toad Sannin gives us a horrified look at the sharpened canines.

"You have  _no idea._ "

. . .

After that, Team Six and Team Seven meets together more often. Most of the time, it goes something like this:

Sakumo somehow talks Orochimaru into talking about his snakes, their lives, their habits. Hisoka naps in the shade by Tsunade-hime, his quiet suiting her need for it.

And Jiraiya and Shiromaru-and-I end up talking about seals, of all things, while Koharu-sensei and the Hokage murmur under-wind and under-breath.

(Because fuuinjutsu is  _so much_  like the technological language of the-life-before, underneath buried memories and new-life and Shiromaru and Pack. Because as long as it has been, as much as it is healthier to  _let it go_  –

I have always been a selfish person. And if I take more of an interest in sealing for full reasons that only I will ever know, Shiromaru only grumbles and does not speak, and no one comments.)

Jiraiya is not talented with seals, does not have a natural inclination for them, only the ruthless drive to learn and learn and  _learn._

Shiromaru-and-I respect that.

Still, that means that when we take the chuunin exams, Sakumo is the kenjutsu-and-tracking specialist, Hisoka is the strategist-and-tactician, and Shiromaru-and-I are ninjutsu, yes, and our clan techniques, but also  _fuuinjutsu._

. . .

Suzaku's Eternal Fire entwined within the script of Ameterasu's Heavenly Sun Mirror. Fujin's Divine Breath coupled with Raijin's Lightning Strike. Bridge of the Dragon King overlaying High Tide of the Sea and Susanoo's Tempest Squall.

Fuuinjutsu is not limited to barriers, chakra sealing, chakra healing.

(Time-space jutsus.)

Fuuinjutsu, in and of itself, equals an entire  _language_  – with the nuances and implications there-in. There are multiple interpretations. There is a  _reason_  that it is a difficult and dangerous area to master.

Intent is _everything._

. . .

No one is surprised when we pass, and graduate.

The Inuzuka throw a party for all of the new chuunin this year – ( _Shisen-and-Kuraimaru, Hoko-and-Hiyamaru, Shiromaru-and-I_ ) and everyone attends.

(No one is surprised when Sakumo stays over until the next day, nor are they surprised when they find Jiraiya and Shiromaru-and-I talking seals well into the night.)

. . .

Most genin teams dissolve themselves after they achieve chuunin rank.

(There is no reason for them to meet, to train, to live and learn together. Not anymore.)

But Team Six is not  _most teams,_  and we make it through another year, intact.

Koharu-sensei drops by occasionally, when we need a jounin to accompany our all-chuunin team on a mission.

Team Seven has broken up, however, and scattered to the winds. Shiromaru-and-I see only Jiraiya regularly these days – the Hokage has his duties to attend to, and Tsunade-hime has reportedly taken over the hospital to start rewriting medical procedures.

Orochimaru disappears into R&D and into his labs, as the whispers among the villagers get darker and darker and he becomes something less than human and it is then that something in Sakumo starts to  _crack._

(But there is nothing we can do for him, because for us Orochimaru has never been Pack and  _will never be._ )

. . .

(…in hindsight, Orochimaru's leaving of Sakumo in the cold is the first slip on a highly slippery slope into downfall, no matter how bright our future had seemed.)

. . .

Sakumo's parents die.

( _It is the last straw._ )

. . .

ANBU is for the broken.

The very  _nature_  of the Inuzuka means that unless someone loses their ninken partner, or their entire families, or something similar or greater in trauma, no one joins the shadow corps.

And even then, the clansmen always catch them before they fall.

(Because clan is family is  _Pack._ )

 _ANBU is for the broken,_  the clan teaches us, stern eyes keeping attention and stern tongues keeping us from asking more.  _ANBU is for the broken, and that is all you need to know._

_If you think a packmate is heading down that path, stop them._

. . .

("…why are you doing this?"

" _Why?_ " A bitter laugh escapes my mouth, wrenched from my throat and given life in chocked form. "You call us a  _team_  and a  _family_  and  _you dare to ask why?_ "

Shiromaru growls from where he sits, eye-to-eye to a knocked-over Sakumo. He is larger now, so much larger than the day that Team Six had been created, all sleek muscle-and-bone. Built for speed, built for strength.

But in this case, built to make our idiot-of-a-packmate Sakumo  _understand._

"Do you even know what ANBU  _is?_ " There is a shout to the edge of my words, now, and it grates against the ears but Shiromaru does not comment and Sakumo averts his gaze and Hisoka frowns ever-so-slightly and I press on. "ANBU is for the broken people, Sakumo. The ones that lost everything. It's not just 'the elite of the elite' – hell, it's not even just the shadow heroes that everyone says they are."

"I  _know_  that." His words are quiet, but when he raises his head Sakumo's eyes are filled with lightning.  _Fitting._  "And I  _have_  lost everything. Or did my parents' death completely pass  _you_  by, an air-headed Inuzuka who's to  _feral_  to see past your own nose?"

Shiromaru  _snarls_  at that and I grit my teeth –  _We have_ earned  _this place on the team, and feral has nothing to do with it,_  he says and I twine my fingers in his fur and wish for nothing else than to take Sakumo down, right here, right now, nothing but us and blood-on-teeth and fight-for-dominance – but it is Hisoka who speaks first.

"Don't take us for fools," he says, and his voice takes on the hard edge that means he is  _serious._  Sakumo shuts up and  _finally starts to listen_. "Or are  _you_  idiotic enough to not have eyes for us, who're _your_  genin team? The ones that you called 'family, through thick and thin, through disasters and nightmares, good days and bad'?  _That_  kind of family?"

The silver-haired startles and blinks and stares at Hisoka, then at us, then at our Nara packmate again. He starts to speak, eyes to us and lightning there no longer, but Shiromaru-and-I do not hear; we are already gone, only air in our wake.

 _Run and run and run, until you are flying and one with the wind and it carries you away, chasing stars and sun alike –_ )

. . .

It is… not right, to leave a packmember hurting.

_He hurt us first._

It isn't anything we haven't heard before.

 _But we never expected it to come from_ him.

That's… true. But Hisoka has it in-hand. They'll be fine.

Shiromaru curls up beside me, and together we watch the sky.

. . .

_He hadn't meant for his words to hurt, but they had._

_Well, no, that was a lie. He had known full-well what had been coming out of his mouth – he had just chosen not to_ care.

 _(The disappointment from Hisoka coupled with his guilt_  hurts _, like a kunai taken to the flesh, and the part of his mind affected by the Summoning Contract whines and wishes to crawl back, throat bared, to make amends.)_

_He finds her on top of the hill in Training Ground Fourteen, her ninken's head in her lap and the both of them cloud-watching. He knows they know he is here – he is upwind of them, something he'd known but hadn't wanted to change._

_Sakumo had wanted to give her the choice to leave and not Confront him, if she had wished._

_The fact that she did not take that out does not make him feel any better._

They've defaulted, _Hisoka whispers under-breath from by his side, and Sakumo understands._

_Inuzuka and Hatake have had better relations, lately. And more than that, he has been on a team with one for his genin career, and most of his chuunin, now._

_He approaches her with eyes-down and hands-without-weapons, coming as close as he can to slinking towards her while in shinobi uniform. There is a flick of dark eyes at him when he gets close enough for him to scent her properly, and Shiromaru raises his head to growl and Sakumo_ flinches _back, a whine in his throat –_

 _Then Shiga is_ there, _eyes a wild storm and fangs bared. Her chin is tilted inward, protecting her throat, and there is a growl, louder than her ninken-partner's, that shocks his nerves and raises the hair on the back of his neck._

Shiga  _has_  defaulted,  _Sakumo realizes._

_And there is only one language that an Inuzuka will understand when they've defaulted, and the last Hatake alive bares his own throat gladly, closing his eyes as he does so._

_He will not Confront her, nor Challenge. He had lost the right when he had hurt his teammate with words, when he_ knows _full-well what insults an Inuzuka endures from shinobi and civilians alike._

_Instead, he lets her Judge._

. . .

"I'm sorry for what I said. It was wrong of me, and arrogant. I  _know_  you and Shiromaru and Hisoka have been trying to help, and Koharu-sensei too, even though she's too busy to be effective at all. But I  _do_  know what I'm getting into, Shiga. I know the risks of going ANBU, as well as the benefits. And it's not that I've lost enough things that I want to lose myself in missions. You and Hisoka reminded me of that. But I still have enough to  _lose,_  and – and we all know what sorts of missions that ANBU takes. We're not genin anymore, we  _know_. And I don't want you, or Shiromaru, or Hisoka to be taking those."

A sigh, and Hisoka tilts his head at the both of us after Sakumo's rant. The Hatake still stands, eyes down, throat bared, and something makes it through the haze over Shiromaru-and-I. "Sakumo's not being an idiot with this, Shiga," he explains calmly. My fingers curl over Shiromaru's fur more tightly, but he does not comment; he is still standing threateningly, every line of his body a Challenge. "I've listened to his reasons. They're valid. And with the amount that he's trained and we've given him hell for, he stands a good chance of coming back from ANBU missions in one piece."

 _And he doesn't need permission from us to join the shadow corps,_  is what he does not say, but Shiromaru-and-I hear it all the same.

…

It is a choice, then.

Say no, or let our packmate choose his path?

(Keep Sakumo with us, or let him go?)

. . .

A breeze.

Whispers on the breeze, words under-breath, and Hatake Sakumo sighs, and embraces his two teammates and the ninken-partner.

(Today, they are a team of two-and-two-halves. Tomorrow, they will be scattered leaves on the wind.

It tears his heart to do this, but he knows his reasons are good. Valid, even – Hisoka had listened, and thought, and critiqued but he had not revolted.

A Nara's insight is almost as valuable as a Yamanaka's, in situations like these.)

Shiga slaps him upside-the-head, and Sakumo grins and Hisoka sighs and rolls his eyes while Shiromaru coughs a not-laugh, and the world rights itself.

. . .

It is an end, but not  _the_  end.

Maybe, just maybe, with Hisoka Intel's darling and Sakumo a rookie in ANBU and Shiromaru-and-I fulfilling Clan duties and working fuuinjutsu with Jiraiya in the meantime, this can be the start of something  _new_  –

. . .

It starts with the Daimyo of the Land of Earth getting greedy, and Iwagakure pushing their borders.

It ends with the culmination of the Second Shinobi World War.


	2. shifting grounds beneath your feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who gives a ten-year-old child a weapon and tells them to kill someone? We do, that's who. We break them open and pour them into molds and hone their edges to ones sharp enough to cut. But what happens when that child-soldier grows up?

. . .

_The world pulses, twines itself into a shape not its own, and you recognize the handiwork of your Uchiha teammate. The illusion drapes itself over the field, touching you-and-Shiromaru and your squad, but not affecting. The Hidden Rock nin slow, then stop, caught in an unending nightmare of blood-night and burning-flames, you know._

The Uchiha can be surprisingly vindictive, _you allow yourself a moment to think, then gesture to your ninken-half. He grins back at you, then settles himself at your side._

_Two wolf-demons, crouching in the foreign soil of Stone Country._

"Gatenga!"

_Your fellow Konoha nin follow in the bloody wake of your charge, slitting throats and dealing death –_

All in the name of the village.

. . .

There is – no one, good way to describe war.

Some describe it as hell, with the screams of the dying and the dead roaring in the ears, blood spilling like river water, bodies torn to shreds amid jutsus and fire-lightning.

Our ancestors had lived through this, once. In that first World War that felled the Niidaime Hokage.

(Koharu-sensei had been on that team. She has only mentioned the… incident, once. And never again.

But she has never failed to describe  _war_ , and her words are adequate enough to embody the pure  _chaos._ )

Shiromaru-and-I are not the only Inuzuka out on the frontlines, fighting. Mimi-and-Kiiromaru are somewhere behind, wreaking havoc the way only they seem to do. Hoko-and-Hiyamaru are somewhere in the mess, and the only way Shiromaru-and-I can find them accurately is by chakra-sensing.

The battlefield is… too overwhelming, otherwise. There are too many scents, too many sounds of blood-metal-clashing-kunai-jutsu-lighting-up-like-fireworks, as Inuzuka cannot simply turn off enhanced senses, though blocking is possible.

(But the chakra drain of blocking can  _kill_  in a war zone, so most choose to forego and endure. Shiromaru-and-I are one of them.)

When we arrive back at camp, battered and bruised but still  _alive_ , one of the ANBU standing guard throws us a concerned glance.

Normally, that is not anything new – half-dead from chakra-exhaustion tends to worry everyone, in the field. But this one, particular ANBU –

Shiromaru-and-I stare at the familiar chakra-sense and scent, underneath the layers of mud and dirt and chakra suppression.

(There is no forgetting the marks of one you have fought and bled with, especially if they had been on your genin team – even if they  _are_  ANBU level, with ANBU level suppression and all that implies.)

_Is that –_

Sakumo? Possibly.

Shiromaru-and-I eye the black-cloak and white-mask for a moment, taking in the lanky figure and haggard set to the shoulders. There is still a… burning in the chakra, still lightning, still flickering. And he looks better, like he fits into his own skin, now. Not like he had been  _before_.

… _he looks as if he has been doing well._

ANBU… suits him. More than I care to admit. But we both  _know_  what sort of work he does, what he's required to do –

_Just trust him, Shiga. Sakumo's a grown shinobi. He can take care of himself._

He'd better. Or I'll kick in the door to the Shinigami's realm and drag him back to life, then kill him  _myself_.

Shiromaru chokes a not-quite-a-laugh, and then when a medic has finished healing us, we throw ourselves into the fray once again, unheeding of the blood-dying-dead.

(There are words unspoken, not even between the two of us, but that's alright. We don't need words to understand.

Because we are Shiromaru-and-Shiga, and that makes all the difference.)

. . .

After an encounter with Hanzo the Salamander, and a decimated clearing, and more bandages used and blood lost than I ever care to remember, the rumors of the  _Densetsu no Sannin's_ begin to circulate the battlefield, instilling a new wind beneath the Leaf-nin and a damning sense of terror in the enemies'.

. . .

(Half-a-year later, Sakumo is ordered to shed his ANBU mask on his second rotation at the frontlines against Iwa.

 _For the morale of the troops,_  the Hokage says when he is asked why, and nothing else, though he does let Wolf return to the ANBU ranks after a while.

Still, the return to secrecy had not been soon enough, and the true extent of  _The Professor's_  conniving sense of psychological warfare is made clear.

Rumors of  _the White Fang of Konohagakure_  begin to circulate the battlefields, and with the same effects of the rumors of the  _Densetsu no Sannin_  – better morale, more camaraderie between Leaf-nin.

 _The Professor has earned his name for a reason_.)

. . .

"Yo, Jiraiya. Heard you got yourselves famous and all."

Said now-Toad Sannin sighs and scrubs the back of his neck. He smears blood-and-ink on his skin, remnants of his work and his participation of the bloody battlefield we're currently standing in. He smirks, wryly. "That still didn't save me from being assigned brats."

There are surprisingly large areas of non-dangerous terrain that the medics are using to treat Konoha ninja. But for even something as helpful as that, there is a trade-off. "Brats that you're currently neglecting, I'm guessing?"

Jiraiya coughs and smiles. "The War doesn't take kindly to any of the Sannin staying at home."

And it's true – with even a month of the Sannin beside me missing from the battlefield, Iwa had pressed,  _hard,_  into our own lines. It had been amid that chaos that Sakumo had earned his name.

 _And so did we,_  Shiromaru says petulantly, and I spare him a sharp grin with too-many-teeth before returning to Jiraiya. "Well, at least you're doing  _something_ useful out here, unlike anything you'd probably do in Konoha. And this year's Academy crop isn't even  _close_  to graduation yet, anyway. Anything I can do?"

The man hums, ignoring the jab at his habits and silently acknowledging the point, before handing over the half-completed seal in his hand. "If you can stabilize that without the Fire Release blowing up in our faces, that'd be helpful."

I flap a hand at him, already concentrating on reading his own brand of chicken-scratch-calligraphy and madness-and-ash-filled-fuuinjutsu script to pay any more than half-an-attention. Shiromaru responds instead, in the toothy-smile and  _Of course we can._

"…you just  _had_  to combine Amaterasu's Heavenly Sun Mirror with the Dragon on the Mountain,  _why_  would you do that?"

Jiraiya makes a face at me, which I ignore and Shiromaru snorts at. "I'm trying to make this compatible with Konoha shinobi, for once, and not just a specialized thing."

"So Sun Mirror for amplification, and Dragon on the Mountain for stabilization." This time it's my turn to hum. Shiromaru tilts his head for a moment, and barks.

Jiraiya gives him a look, and I translate – "Even Shiromaru agrees with me, unless you have a Fire Release equal to the Sun Mirror sigil, the Dragon on the Mountain will overwhelm the fire-type fuuinjutsu. And your current general Fire Storage tag isn't going to balance it. Which is why it's been blowing up in your face, because the rest of the seal isn't  _meant_  to be earth-type,  _which it turned into_."

The Sannin blinks, then rubs a hand over his face. "To put it in context, I was working on that just last night," he admits. He doesn't look as if he's slept.

"…you worked on this while sleep-deprived."

"…yes?"

"…fine, I'll fix this. Go sleep."

Shiromaru helpfully steers Jiraiya away before he can make even  _more_  sleep-deprived mistakes, leaving me alone with his half-crazy seal.

 _Densetsu no Sannin_  or not, a  _rapidly-becoming genius_  with seals or not, Jiraiya is still a  _man_ and has mortal needs.

( _Take care of Pack,_  is the whisper inside the mind, and I know Shiromaru can feel it too.)

. . .

No matter how famous one gets –  _even on the heels of the Legendary Sannin, on the White Fang, for having skills that you_ fought for _so that you could be_ something _more than just_ "Inuzuka" – everyone is still mortal.

Shiromaru takes a kunai to the leg, and normally that isn't a problem, but that is also the leg that he'd broken only the week before. Tsunade-hime sends us back without letting us get a word in otherwise.

Most Inuzuka clansmen, when home on off-rotation or on medical leave, tend to spend their days in the clan compound. Quietly. Peacefully.

(Of course, there are always those that  _don't,_  but they are the minority than the majority.)

Shiromaru-and-I… have never really been the said majority.

. . .

Torn-up, scratched, dried blood crusting on the edges, and having been delivered by a messenger-toad:  _Fire Release went well, you were right, Iwa currently missing a battalion. Also running out of explosive tags._

A sigh later, the toad returns with a spare roll of explosive tags and:  _Good. Are you using me as the supply depot instead of the official one? Should I be demanding compensation?_

 _Sakumo says hi. Secrecy seals this time._  This message is written on a scrap sheet of fuuinjutsu paper, written in plain ink, not the chakra-infused one. Shiromaru snorts at it and its blatent side-stepping ( _He could just_ ask,he grumbles,  _and not resort to amateur psychology_ ), but helpfully fetches the roll of pre-prepared secrecy seals.

_Tell Sakumo that if he doesn't come back in one piece I'll maim him myself. Give me some warning before you demand seals._

Later, when Shiromaru-and-I are teaching some of the clan children the very beginnings of the Inuzuka-specific jutsu, comes by toad:  _Sakumo says he loves you too. Should I be starting to write a romance novel about this? Might need Lightning Release tags soon._

Hisoka – an Intel agent, now, one of the best, but still as lazy as ever – doesn't need any more reason to start laughing.  _Hisoka tells me that it should be a threesome, at the very least. Here's some Lightning Release,_ DO NOT _electrocute the rest of your supplies like you did last time. That way lies explosions._

 _Threesome it is. Lightning Release worked well, you might want to think of adding Water sigils in there too. And_ that was only one time. _Always need more explosive tags._

(There is rarely time to draw out a full roll of whatever-seal-is-needed, in the front lines. Ninja networking is kami-sama's blessing, sometimes.

And when we're dealing with death?

…it's not the first time that Team Six – and the extension of Team Seven, so much that sometimes it's Team-Six-and-Team-Seven – has been separated.

 _Village-Pack above all._ )

. . .

During a war, vacation cannot be permanent.

Konohagakure's second rotation of jounin return to the frontlines.

We go with them, and in our trail is ash-dust-blood-fangs-ripping-into-flesh.

"Where in hell did you  _come_  from?!" Sakumo shouts at us. He's out of the ANBU uniform for once –  _back on duty as the White Fang._

 _Where's the fun in telling you that?_  Shiromaru howls back, and I laugh as Shiromaru-and-I tear into the frontlines, Sakumo at my back, Hisoka at my flank. The  _Densetsu no Sannin_  are somewhere in this final stand between major shinobi villages.

War or not, we need to get our amusement from  _somewhere._

(Grim, morbid amusement, but war is not fluffy-puppies-and-sugar.)

. . .

Somewhere in the madness, protected by the fury that is an-Inuzuka-with-a-packmate-under-fire, Senju Nawaki  _does not die._

(…somewhere in the madness, in blood-dying-dead, Katou Dan  _does._

The Inuzuka tend to take care of their clan members' interests in said clan member's absence, and Senju Tsunade and her younger brother had fallen under that category.

A battlefield away and a medic doing his duty, Katou Dan… had been overlooked.

…

…

…I cannot bring myself to regret it, as Katou Dan would have not – he had died protecting a patient.)

. . .

…but eventually, the war ends, and we come home, and Shiromaru-and-I laugh and scrub Sakumo's spiky silver hair and drag Hisoka to dinner at the Inuzuka compound.

(The next day there are funerals – tens of hundreds and maybe even thousands of them, in memorial of those that had fallen in the war.

Senju Tsunade weeps at the photograph of a white-haired man, but moves on: she is not the grief-stricken women that could-have-been, nor does she fear the slightest sign of blood. She takes in her lover's niece, instead.)

Many a change.

_Change will be good._

I hope to kami-sama they will be.

. . .

The world moves on.

(The shadows don't, and the knives are sharpened in the dark, where only those who know where to look can  _see._ )

. . .

Sakumo gets a girlfriend _._ Specifically, he gets his girlfriend  _pregnant._

_"How did that happen?!"_

"Ahaha… you see…"

. . .

Hatake Sakumo's wedding to one Nishimura Chieko is attended by many a high-ranking person from Konohagakure.

Koharu-sensei stands in as groom's mother, Hisoka is godfather, and I am godmother – or, with Shiromaru, the  _other_  set of godparents, Sakumo jokes.

The newly named Hatake Chieko laughs, leans back into her new husband, and smiles at us all with pure  _content._

(Hatake Chieko is a civilian. She is one of the people that us shinobi, the  _ninja_ , go on with our blood-soaked lives – so that  _they_ may not have to.

One of the Academy oaths involves a swearing of duty to the civilians of Konohagakure.

From what Shiromaru-and-I can tell, we are one of the few – if not the  _only_  – village that does this.)

_Just one more thing that sets us apart from the others._

Indeed, I murmur to Shiromaru, and together we laugh at Jiraiya getting plastered with sake and Sakumo pushing at the Toad Sannin, Orochimaru and Hisoka muttering by themselves and shaking their heads at the sight, Tsunade-hime beside me absolutely and completely ignoring the men, drinking her own bottle of sake. The older generation sits to the side, quietly talking amongst themselves about this and that.

(No doubt there is  _some_  political maneuvering here, but the rest of the eyes are on the new couple. Admittedly, they  _do_  look highly happy, for which Shiromaru-and-I – and the rest of team-Pack – are profoundly glad.)

The war is  _over._

Shiromaru-and-I grin at Tsunade-hime and together, we watch our people.

. . .

A few weeks later, Jiraiya introduces Shiromaru-and-I to his brats.

Yamanaka Hiroaki, Watanabe Akemi, and  _Namikaze Minato_  stare back at us. Behind them, Jiriaya is  _grinning._

. . .

_The heavens move, and the path of reality – shifts._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. That just happened. *evil cackling*
> 
> Questions for you all: what most surprised you? What _didn't?_
> 
> Though I have to say, there will be _fun times_ ahead. :D
> 
> (Also, making up seals and how they work. Did anyone like that? Did anyone _not?_ I'd really appreciate it if you gave me your thoughts on that, as fuuinjutsu has to be my favorite part about Someday in general, in addition to snowballing the consequences of one Inuzuka Shiga-and-Shiromaru.)
> 
> Please leave a review, and safe travels,
> 
> \- dktsubani


	3. tilting the world just a little sideways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Butterfly Effect; ripples in a pond; parallel universes in parallel timelines. All terms for the human nature grasping out blindly for the one great and terrible thing: hope.

. . .

“Yes.”

“ _No_.”

The match goes on between us like a blow-by-blow hand-to-hand spar. If the brats had been here, they would have been watching us go back and forth, back and forth. But they’re not, and we’re on top of the Hokage monument instead, only Shiromaru-and-I and Jiraiya and the wind.

(And the privacy seal, but that’s a given.)

I scowl at the Toad Sage, lips curling away from my teeth to bare them. He doesn’t back away, at least.  
“Damn it, Jiraiya, it’s been _years_ since you’ve known the hime. Surely you also know that what you’re contemplating _will_ get you into trouble with her?”

“But right now – after Dan _died_ –”

He does not finish, but he does not have to. Shiromaru frowns, gets up to circle once around the man, twice, before he sits on the other side and stares into Jiraiya’s face. Our friend doesn’t flinch away from that, either – too much time spent with us, perhaps.

Still. The fact that he is being _mindful_ of Tsunade’s pain, for once…

_It simply goes to show how much he cares._

Jiraiya tilts his head in confusion at Shiromaru’s rumble of an answer, but I nod. Sigh. Put my hands into my pockets, and scrub off the privacy seal.

“Very well, then,” and Jiraiya looks relieved. “Sorry ‘bout that. But you _know_ I had to check –”

“That I wasn’t just stalling. Yeah.” He puts his hand to the back of his neck, massages it. A nervous reflex. That he even shows it around us, being who he is, a spymaster, shows the level of trust.

(Ninja don’t trust easily, but we are ninja who have grown up together since we were genin.)

Then there’s a rumble, too close to have been a storm, too quiet. Jiraiya smiles sheepishly, brings out his puppy-begging eyes.

Shiromaru looks as if he wants to hide, but I just sigh. “Fine, fine. Lunch is on me.”

“Only fair. _You_ dragged me up here, demanded to talk about Tsunade-hime –”

“Oh, _shut up._ ”

. . .

Clan Elder calls Shiromaru-and-I to the side, after lunch. We wave off Jiraiya’s curious stare with a hand-wave and a dog-shrug, and leave him to the mercy of Cook.

It’s a delicious mercy. He’ll be fine.

Us, on the other hand.

“No.”

“It must happen sooner or later, Shiga-chan.” Teru-sama looks old, older than usual, with his fading hair and burn scars. He is only two generations older, and yet he is the youngest of the Clan Elders.

(The Inuzuka take care of their own.)

“You know I must decline,” I repeat, but Teru-sama only smiles, as if there’s a joke here that Shiromaru-and-I do not know about. “I have not yet even taken a genin team –”

“A fact that will be fixed soon, I’m sure,” he says, and –

What –

“But there is none better in the Clan than you, Shiga-chan.” There’s a glint to his eyes, now, sharp as any kunai blade from a ninja’s holster. “None better than the _Konoha no Fūji Ryōken_ , after all.”

That is not quite true, and Shiromaru grumbles his disagreement. “What about Mimi-and-Kiiromaru? Or Hoko-and-Hiyamaru? Both of them are accomplished ninja in their own right.”

“Shiga-chan, Shiromaru-kun,” Teru-sama starts. There is something else to that voice. Beside me, I can feel Shiromaru straighten. “The rest of the clan won’t accept a female leader so easily. Having Mimi or even Hoko teach the clan heir would not give them the prestige as if it were one of Konoha’s own legends.”

That… is a fact that cannot be denied.

(Ninja villages and ninja status do not change a lot, culture-wise.)

 _Very well, then,_ Shiromaru concedes, and together we bow to Teru-sama.

. . .

At least Tsume-chan is a good and studious student, and Kuromaru by her side an even keel for her wild temper.

. . .

There are dark circles under Hisoka’s eyes.

There are dark circles under nearly _any_ ninja’s eyes, and more commonly for the ones Intel Division, the ones more likely to stay up at night finishing assignments, but –

“Hisoka.” He turns around, hand at his belt, only relaxing when Shiromaru chuffs at him. “Like I thought.”

He doesn’t screech, at least, when I hook an arm through his and Shiromaru falls into step beside him, nor does he protest. He just starts complaining instead. Typical Hisoka.

“ _I_ am feeding you lunch, a _proper_ one, thank you, and then you’ll tell me what’s wrong.”

_And if we have to invite anyone to… spar, with us._

Hisoka gives Shiromaru-and-I a dubious glance, first at me, then at the white mass of fur loping at his hip. “I can’t talk you out of this, can I?”

“Be glad it’s not Tsunade-hime doing it,” I say, and he nods in agreement after a sudden round of bewildered blinking.

. . .

_Sakumo has started talking with Orochimaru again._

That can’t be helped. Whether or not we like him, he’s still Konoha.

_But for how long?_

…

_It’s like Hisoka says – if you can, befriend your enemies, and they will strike down others for you._

...and Jiraiya will sulk if his best friend starts slipping again.

Shiromaru nods, satisfied. _Exactly_.

...What happened to the thing about Orochimaru never being “Pack?”

My other-half looks away. _Perhaps we were chasing at shadows._

...What?

 _Nothing._ Shiromaru stands, moves to the window. _Nothing at all._

. . .

“Remind me,” I ask him, later, when there is a small child’s wild grasps for my hair, untied, “ _Why_ did we agree to do this, again?”

Shiromaru doesn’t look up from where he sits, content to watch Chieko cook. _Because Sakumo is Pack_.

Which is true. I sigh and pat little Kakashi on the back, and set him down on the couch, then start untangling my hair from his fingers. He lives up to the prodigy name, at the very least.

I've had to pull his fingers away from sneaking around to my kunai holster more than once. Really, _where_ had he learned to do that?

No, I know where he learned how to do that. And I don’t blame Sakumo for it, either _–_ rather, I _can’t_.

Once-upon-a-time-and-never-will-be-ago, Chieko did not exist. _Does_ not exist. But here, before us and humming a bright little tune under her breath, her heart beats and her lungs draw in air.

Shiromaru thumps his large tail on the ground, once. Right after, Chieko calls out: “Dinner is ready!”

“We’re coming!” I say, and tap Kakashi’s sneaking fingers away from the brace of senbon on my hip.

. . .

Our lives are not one of sunshine-and-rainbows. The _Densetsu no Sannin_ are called so for a reason, having earned their name in war, on battlefields of blood and death and scorched earth; so is the Silver Fang. So are the Sealing Hounds.

Our old teams have fallen into their specialties already, Hisoka to Intel, Sakumo to ANBU. Their lives are relatively straight-forward and true.

But _ours –_

Shiromaru breathes in when I do, looking over the Village at dawn. The wind is strong up here; the people are tiny, their presence in chakra strong.

“This won’t be easy.”

There is a chuff, and the bump of a head hard against my hip. _We’ve already had practice with Tsume_.

“Teaching the Clan Heir and _a genin team_ is entirely different,” I say, and if it comes out as a hiss then the privacy seal burning under my foot and sapping at chakra ensures only Shiromaru can hear that.

Not that it matters. He hits me on the hip, harder, and does not flinch away when I swat at his head with equal force. _How is it different? Why is Tsume easier than three genin you don’t know?_

“Because if I mess up, the Clan is there. With these genin, there’s just _us –_ ”

 _Wrong._ Shiromaru chuffs, giving voice to his frustration. _Have you forgotten? Who brought his own brats to you when he couldn’t take care of them?_

That.

That is…

 _I’m right, and you know it._ My other self _–_ my _better_ self, if I am to be honest _–_ give me a wolf-dog’s sharp grin. _We –_ you _don’t have to shoulder everything alone._

…

Shiromaru… is right. Isn’t that what the Clan tries to teach us? Clan is Pack; the Village and your comrades are also Pack.

_Don’t forget that. Now, release that privacy seal already; you have brats to go and meet._

. . .

The only saving grace is that Jiraiya had taken Namikaze Minato as his own student.

But with Tsunade-hime busy with the hospital, and Orochimaru busy with his own research _–_

“The safest place for her to be is with a legend of Konoha, is it not?” the Professor says.

Well. At least teaching an Uzumaki will be interesting _._

_Their clan art is fuuinjutsu, isn’t it?_

All the more for you-and-I to teach her.

. . .

Orochimaru fits his Sagehood: as anti-social as a snake, as wary as one.

Doubts still linger in the back of my mind, but that is not-here; that is once-upon-a-time, as Shiromaru is fond of reminding me. He knows more than I have shaped into physical words, but that is fine.

(Shiromaru-and-I; I-and-Shiromaru. Once upon a time, such relationships were reserved for twins.)

We start off small, friendly greetings at gatherings, making sure that he’s not off in a corner somewhere and stared at by multitudes of people. Usually Sakumo or Jiraiya or Tsunade-hime take that latter job.

 _But they cannot be everywhere_.

Orochimaru is… doubtful, the first few times. But he comes to accept it, when we continue.

. . .

Shiromaru-and-I find the crush that Jiraiya’s student has on Uzuamki Kushina to be hilarious.

Jiraiya himself, on the other hand…

“He’s an idiot around her,” he says. The cup of sake in his hand tips dangerously close to spilling its contents over the table. He’s not drunk enough to do that, though. “By himself and with his team? Oh, he’s fine, attentive, curious _–_ but as soon as our teams meet up?”

 _Says the man who was teasing a princess into punching him through walls because he liked her,_ Shiromaru mutters. I laugh; Jiraiya stares at Shiromaru-and-I.

Then downs the remains of his cup in one go before pouring himself another. “One day,” he swears, “I’m going to write a seal that lets me translate Shiromaru’s words, because gods _damn_ not knowing why you’re laughing at me is getting old.”

 _Good luck with that._ Shiromaru grins when Jiraiya stares down at him with the glare of someone who knows perfectly well the dangers of not knowing a language in a foreign country.

. . .

It is common knowledge that there are four shinobi and kunoichi in Konoha that specialize in sealing: Jiraiya, Shiromaru-and-I, and now Namikaze Minato and Uzumaki Kushina. There are others that dabble in it, or are proficient in the art, but there are only four that are truly capable of being _masters_ at it.

It is the reason why Jiraiya and Shiromaru-and-I were given those two genin to work with _–_ or rather, as Hisoka predicts, _a_ reason.

But even with its four, Konoha is far ahead of the other Villages in this aspect _–_ even _Suna_ , our tentative ally, does not have its own to boast. With its internal chaos, Kiri is unlikely to; Cloud’s Bingo Book lacks a shinobi with presence on the field; and judging by the Second War, Iwa cannot decipher seals in time to have any effect on the battlefield, if at all.

In such a small and still-developing field, it is an unspoken agreement that once a specialist has formally taught another in an apprenticeship and finishes it, then they can be considered to have their mastery.

“Are any of you specializing yet?” Hisoka asks. He spears another takoyaki, nibbles on it. He’s not eating nearly enough.

But we are here for work, and so I will leave the fussing for later.

_By dragging him to Tsunade-hime._

Of course.

“Jiraiya isn’t,” I reply. The cup of green tea is still warm in my hands, and I take a sip, noting the lack of poison. “He’s generalizing, a jack-of-all-trades sort of thing. Shiromaru-and-I are taking up wards and security. Namikaze wants to go into space-time; Kushina-chan wants the Uzumaki tradition of barriers.”

Shiromaru thumps his tail against the traditional mat that he’d been provided in this traditional teahouse. _Protect the Pack_.

Hisoka inclines his head, frowning when his next attack at his plate with his chopsticks comes up empty. I sigh and look around for another waiter to flag down.

“Did you even have breakfast this morning?”

Our old genin teammate blinks, and _actually has to think about it_.

 _Idiot_.

. . .

But they are _ours_ . _Our_ teammates. _Our_ idiots.

(All of my old genin teammates; all of the Sannin. All three of them.)

Which means that when Jiraiya is stretched too thin, pulled between his work as a _Sannin_ , his own research, and the small-but-surely-growing spy network that is his pet project, Shiromaru-and-I are the ones that he asks to take care of Namikaze’s sealing work for a while.

_You have to admit, that brat has Ideas._

“Some very _stupid_ ideas,” I add _–_ the boy himself is in range, and I want him to hear this, “but yes, Minato-kun has good ideas. For the most part.”

Namikaze doesn’t seem to know if he should be proud, insulted, annoyed, or all of the above. Shiromaru snickers.

“Emphasis on the _‘for the most part_ ,’ sensei.” Kushina-chan works her way back into the room, her arms full of stacked scrolls. “Other times he proposes things like putting a fireball inside a space-time lock to use later. Sensei, these are the ones you mentioned, right?”

The sole blonde in the room sputters; Shiromaru-and-I ignore him in favor of the scrolls that Kushina-chan hands over. It only takes a glance to confirm them - Jiraiya and I had had those scrolls for _years_. “Right. Pull what you want to study from that stack, since they have some notes in the margins that you might find helpful. Minato-kun, get back to your calligraphy.”

His gulp is _audible_ ; so are Kushina-chan’s giggles.

. . .

But Minato-kun is not called a genius for nothing _–_ he develops a theory not a year later, acts upon it even sooner. It is only because that Shiromaru-and-I are there that Tsunade-hime shouts only about ligament damage, about continuous whiplash injuries and the consequences thereof, and threatens not to heal anything she deems as coming from idiocy.

“You know if you’d done this unsupervised she would have been far angrier.”

“Really, Shiga-san?” Minato-kun blinks hard, thumping at his ear; testing his hearing, probably. There had been a reason that Shiromaru-and-I had covered our ears at the first sight of Tsunade-hime clenching her fists, and not just because our senses are more heightened than the average shinobi’s. “Tsunade-sama would be angrier than _that?_ ”

 _By far._ Shiromaru flicks an ear. _Count yourself lucky._

By his expression, Minato-kun is learning to.

. . .

Orochimaru has an air of confusion around him when I link one of my arms through one of his and drag him through the streets, Shiromaru at his other hip. “What, exactly, is the meaning of this?”

“What do you _think_ it is?” I ask, and if my voice is far too cheerful for the stares that come our way, well. Sakumo _had_ said it was alright when I made teasing the Snake Sannin a requirement for Shiromaru-and-I being able to interact with him. “It’s noon. That means lunchtime, and _you_ haven’t come out of your lab in _days_.”

There is silence, only broken by the chime of the bell on the teashop’s door when we pass through, the cheerful greetings of the old grandmother that runs the store. Orochimaru does not speak, not until there is a privacy seal on the table before us, and then:

“ _Why?_ ”

“Because you’re Konoha,” is the reply. Shiromaru’s warmth is heavy; his intent a weight on my shoulders, even as he curls around Orochimaru’s back, not seeming to realize the sage’s stiffening. “Because you’re Jiraiya’s friend, and Sakumo’s, and _mine_. Because you’re Pack. Is that reason enough?”

By the expression on his face, no it’s not. Not even with the tactic that Shiromaru-and-I have employed, aiming to slowly but surely start him getting acclimated to the idea of _Pack_.

_Fair enough. We have time._

We have time.

. . .

Some days, Orochimaru smells of old blood, chemicals, broken bodies. Bone.

Those days grow increasingly rare. Jiraiya can get him to smile more often; Sakumo looks at Shiromaru-and-I, noticing the same thing.

. . .

I wish these days could last forever.

Shiromaru sighs, nudges my hip. _Don’t ask for things that are impossible._

. . .

The tensions rise, on the border. Jiraiya is called more and more often into meetings with his network; with the Hokage; with the other Sannin. Shiromaru-and-I are called in to some; we have others without the _Sannin_.

Sakumo tenses up, more and more often. Some amount of forewarning being an advantage of ANBU? Perhaps.

Still, all we can do is face it head-on.

. . .

The Second Shinobi World War had started because of a Daimyo’s greed, and because Fire demands that retribution be swift and decisive.

The Third starts with the death of a Wind Country noble, an accusation, an alibi that cannot be supported, and the ruined prides of people.

. . .

When Konoha rides out into battle, it is with the White Fang within their midst.

 _And we are_ keeping _it that way_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, an announcement.
> 
> Due to mirror sites of fanfiction.net that have essentially stolen my stories and posted them without my consent, I will no longer be uploading chapters or new stories to that site. If you're looking for them there and notice that they are not updated, that is why.
> 
> Questions for you all: are things in this timeline unfolding as you thought? Are they not? 
> 
> Please leave a review, and safe travels,
> 
> \- dktsubani


	4. running headfirst into the sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life is a marathon, my dear, and anyone who seeks a shortcut to the end misses out on a lot of terrible heartache and hardening fire.

. . .

“Was that _supposed_ to happen?”

“What? The fire? The destruction? Or the _sheer greatness_ of the last explosion?”

Orochimaru doesn’t flail, but if he were a lesser man he would – it’s in the twitch of the arms and the hint of madness in the eye. Shiromaru starts cough–laughing as the Snake Sannin grits out, “Any of it? All of it? Shiga, I –”

“Shiga–sensei,” Kushina blazes over him, bouncing towards Shiromaru–and–I, and were Kushina anyone other than our student she would have been gutted. As it is Orochimaru gives her a baleful glare that she cheerily ignores. “You should do that again!”

I eye Orochimaru – he’s coming up on his limit for insanity – and say with a grin instead, “Where’s Minato and his fancy kunai?”

“Doing actual work,” Orochimaru sniffs, “unlike _some heathens_ here.”

Behind me, I can hear another explosion. The timer on Suzaku’s Eternal Fire must have run out. With a backdrop of wildfire, Shiromaru–and–I must look like pyromaniacs, but none of the others here – not Orochimaru, not Kushina, and not the rest of my darling not–genin–anymore team – flinch away.

Well, Uchiha Fugaku is an _Uchiha_ , so him doing so would have been hypocritical, but the point is moot.

 _Incoming,_ Shiromaru sneezes, and beside him I reach out my senses beyond the smoke–blood–death.

“Kushina–chan! Shiga–sensei!” Minato skids to a halt in front of us, blond hair smudged with red laying in odd spikes and against his head. His sharp eyes take in Shiromaru–and–I, Orochimaru at my back, Kushina and Fugaku and poor Shikuro, who’s doing his best to shield his bugs from the fire, and he sighs.

Shiromaru–and–I grin at him. They’re hovering at that stage between chuunin and jounin, all of them, grown up too fast in a world war that came too fast and fighting for their lives in battles that kill some too fast. But they are still here. They are still alive.

. . .

Once upon a time, a sneaky, sneaky old man named Sarutobi Hiruzen gave Jiraiya a blond–haired student, and Shiromaru–and–I a team with the Kyuubi Jinchuuriki, the Uchiha heir, and one of the Aburame, another noble clan of Konohagakure.

 _At least,_ Shiromaru says, _it’s not Jiraiya’s_.

As cocky as they might have become, I grumble, disrespecting their elders like that.

Shiromaru nudges me in the hip, only somewhat gentle. _Did you expect them to be anything else?_

...not… really? But –

_Minato calls you “sensei,” you know._

But not you, and that might only be because I teach – taught – Kushina as her jounin–sensei.

 _Perhaps._ Shiromaru flicks an ear, thinking. _But you did teach him fuuinjutsu._

Touché.

 _And if we’re done with the wallowing,_ my other half says pointedly, _if you could go back to brushing the knots out of my fur that’d be appreciated._

Big great _lout_.

. . .

Except the thing is, many people thought that the Second Shinobi World War had been it. That there would be no more, the world and its shinobi villages learning from their mistakes and refusing to bathe entire valleys and plains and fields and cities in the scent of death.

And when such people – such war–torn people, as broken and as cracked as shinobi tend to be – are put into a warzone again, or gods forbid, are driven to fracture in the only way a war can do…

Shikuro hesitates, along with Kushina and Fugaku. I motion them back again, scowling and unable to look back at them. “I thought I told you to leave.”

“Sensei,” Kushina says, as the boys flinch – Shiromaru chuffs in amusement, because even though they’re chuunin, even though they’re sixteen–and–seventeen and lion–hearted and brave, we’ve still got it, that we–are–your–jounin–sensei–and–we–are– _disappointed_ tone–and–growl – “we can’t leave you here.”

I would be raising eyebrows at them if I could. As it is Shiromaru–and–I don’t look away from the poor chuunin, caught up in his berserker rage.

 _He’s close,_ Shiromaru almost–growls, _to be needing to be put down._

There’s no way Shiromaru–and–I can talk down Kushina–and–Fugaku–and–Shikuro at their most stubborn. “ _Fine,_ ” I grate out, “but you are _not_ allowed to move an inch from that spot.”

Then Shiromaru–and–I wade into the muck and mud that the chuunin’s distressed water jutsus had made, and fish out a fuuinjutsu seal that we had hoped we would never have to use.

. . .

The thing is, though Inuzuka Shiga of Konohagakure had been known to specialize in wards and security, war necessitates growth and innovation.

And though I have taken psychology classes with a fascinated Hisoka, years and another war ago, once upon a time I had lived another life; and fifty one years is plenty of time to get to know how humans work.

Those in berserker mode have no filters, too gone in their rage, so the first layer is the Lotus of Kannon. Only then should the Twin Komainu of the Shrine be used, lest the target thrash out of the bindings or seal. Tsukuyomi’s Full Moon is to be layered in as a last resort, though it’s unfortunately often needed.

When the chuunin is finally laid to rest on the muddy ground, shivering in his unconsciousness, Shiromaru–and–I rise and turn to our former–still students. “I asked around,” Fugaku says immediately without preamble, even as Kushina and Shikuro approach with blankets in hand. “Saito Fumio was deliberately groomed to be a berserker by his jounin leader.”

“ _Who._ ”

Fugaku is outright scowling when he points, and Shiromaru–and–I taste the air, chakra lashing, in time to see out of the corner of our eyes Kushina and Shikuro bundling up the chuunin to take him back to the medics.

“Okamoto Kumiko,” Fugaku says belatedly, which Shiromaru–and–I barely hear; but we can feel his chakra, steadily burning away, as he falls in behind us.

No matter.

_“YOU DARE?”_

The snarl echoes across the torn battlefield, grinding what noise there is as Kohona packs up to a halt. Shiromaru–and–I stare down Okamoto – burning, bloody, torn ragged – and even as we do so, there is the flicker of startled chakra, hands going for weapons, bodies settling into a ready stance and the fear–stench in the air.

Shiromaru–and–I take the last few steps towards Okamoto. At this distance, it’s easy to see her swallowing, her wide eyes, her Konoha headband wrapped around her upper left bicep and its glint beneath the soot. “What is it, Inuzuka–sama?”

“Okamoto Kumiko,” we snarl out, “did you or did you not groom Saito Fumio as a berserker?”

At that, her eyes harden. “I don’t know about you, Inuzuka–sama,” she grits out, “but for the rest of us mortals, we take what we can get in order to survive another bloody day in this war.”

Behind us, we can distantly hear the sound of someone drawing kunai. Shiromaru–and–I ignore it, the same way we latch onto the uncertainty–fear–indignance in Okamoto’s scent.

“All of Konohagakure is Pack.” We feel our fangs lengthening, chakra pulsing in our veins to bend our bodies to our will; Okamoto’s eyes widen. “You will be answering for your behavior before an inquiry. You can be assured of that.”

More chakra–flares; Orochimaru’s chakra, and Jiraiya’s, late and present and steady. Beyond them are people with damped unknown chakra and the slight burnt edge of the ANBU, only familiar because of long hours with Sakumo.

“And if Shiga doesn’t report you,” Jiraiya practically purrs, looming over our shoulder, “then we will.”

We can almost hear the _So will I_ that Fugaku bites down on last minute, so angry–amused–dark–pleased is his scent.

. . .

The Third War came too early.

_How so?_

For one, I grumble, Kushina–and–Fugaku–and–Shikuro are only sixteen. Minato is seventeen. And for gods’ sake, Sakumo and Jiraiya are twenty–seven!

 _And yet they still have that silver–white hair,_ Shiromaru mutters; I shove him.

Says the hound with the white fur.

_I was born with it._

So were they!

 _Why are you defending them, anyway?_ He opens one eye, lazy and perceptive.

I grin at him, know that my teeth match his, fang for fang. Just pointing out the flaw in your logic, there.

 _Killjoy_ , Shiromaru grumbles, closing his eye. He thumps his tail on the dusty camp–ground in thought, though, and resettles grumpily when I shove my feet under his ribcage so that he’s more comfortable with the change in position. _Anyway. Third War?_

This time I’m the one who eyes him, only I know it’s calculating, because Shiromaru chuffs.

_You–and–I are you–and–I. You know that._

Yeah, I sigh out, I do.

_So?_

We’re too young. Minato and Kushina are too young. This War –

I swipe a hand through my hair, agitated. Shiromaru rolls so that his fur is warming everything from the toes of my bare feet to my ankles.

 _Is this,_ he says carefully, _about your dreams?_

Dreams. I choke down a snort. They’re much more than dreams. You could…

I hesitate there, but this is Shiromaru. My other half.

You could say they’re old memories, at this point.

To his credit, Shiromaru doesn’t open his eyes or even stiffen. After a while he says, _Is there anything you can do about their ages?_

Other than keep Minato from getting killed and keeping Kakashi from joining? Hardly.

_That would be difficult to do, seeing as the gaki is at the clan compound with Mimi–and–Kiiromaru sitting on him._

He is. Hatake Kakashi isn’t even a genin, yet. But in my dreams – old memories –

 _I’m guessing he’s not._ Shiromaru opens both eyes this time, looking solemn. _But that’s not here._

That’s not here.

. . .

If I accomplish nothing else, I think, when Shiromaru is asleep and Jiraiya is snoring and Orochimaru is curled up in the warm space between the three of us, soaking it up as if it’s the last time he’ll get to do so, at least I kept Hatake Kakashi from being broken so early.

. . .

Except one day, an ANBU tries to stab Shiromaru–and–I in the back when no one is looking.

Except that same day, when Jiraiya is yelling at the local ANBU Captain and Orochimaru looks too cold and impassive to be angry but is obvious in his scent to be a hair’s breadth away from outright hissing everyone and Kushina–and–Fugaku–and–Shikuro are doing an admirable impression of grandmothering bodyguards, Sakumo receives notice from the Inuzuka compound that someone tried to assassinate his wife and child.

Except mere moments later, Senju Tsunade bursts into the room, pale and trembling, one hand glowing in healing–chakra–green pressed to a bloodied spot at her side, and even at this distance I can tell _that’s her blood_.

. . .

“Someone is going after _our people_!”

“It’s not ANBU,” Sakumo says angrily, tiredly, bitterly, “it’s _not_ them, the ones that tried to kill Shiga and Shiromaru aren’t on anyone’s squads, ANBU or otherwise, and on top of that their masks appear to be stolen.”

“If they’re not ANBU,” Minato says slowly, “then –”

“We’re still looking.” Sakumo runs a tired hand over his air. He hasn’t changed yet out of the ANBU armor; Shiromaru stares at the blood–smudged–bone–white, still dazed in pain. I run a hand over his flank, avoiding his bandages, trying to soothe us both. “But Cougar doesn’t have much hope.”

“Who’s looking after the bodies?” Orochimaru taps a finger against his chin. To anyone else it would look like he’s impassive and unfeeling, but he still has his tells. He is infuriated and looking for a target to lash out on; whether or not they’re alive is, we know, irrelevant.

Fugaku raises his hand. “I asked some of T&I to hold onto them, on Sakumo–san’s request.”

Sakumo nods, then sighs. “The Field Commander wants this to remain amongst us. Minato and the rest of the gakis are fine, since they were there, but anyone else –”

“And the morale of the troops would fall.” Jiraiya sighs as well, his shoulders slumping just a little inward. There are dark smudges beneath his eyes, and Tsunade–hime who would normally be berating him for pushing himself is tucked in between me and Orochimaru.

I eye the so–called gakis, who straighten automatically. “You all know what to do.”

Kushina nods, grey eyes sharp and serious. “We never saw anything or heard anything.”

Fugaku picks up after her. “Tsunade–sama is lecturing Shiga–sensei for chakra exhaustion, _again_.”

Shikuro finishes, adjusting his clan’s customary sunglasses. “What do you mean they were targeted? Where did you hear such rumors?”

I smile at them, warmth unfurling in my chest to counter the coldness of shock and Shiromaru’s pain; everyone else stares.

“I am so proud of you all,” I say, and my not–genin gakis preen.

. . .

Later, afterward, once the gakis are gone, Sakumo tucks his feet beneath my calves.

I scowl at him. “Who would be suicidal enough to go after Tsunade–hime? Where were her guards?”

Sakumo looks years older, then, as he scrubs his face. “She dismissed them,” he says, “and Eagle accepted it because she would be in the heart of our camp anyway.”

Behind him, posted at the doors, the ANBU still. Sakumo follows my gaze towards them, and flashes them a brief handsign that I recognize as not–jounin before turning back around.

“You’re injured,” he says pointedly, “and I’ve worked with Bear and Viper before. I trust them.”

 _With my life,_ goes unsaid, because this is genin–teammate–Hatake–Sakumo, who if he cannot defend his people himself then will not risk them with anything less than those he trusts absolutely.

I nod to them, maintaining eye contact, and they tap out a salute back.

When I look back, Sakumo looks relieved.

. . .

Not two days after Shiromaru–and–I recover enough to be declared healthy by Tsunade–hime, Kushina gets kidnapped.

When we dip into that headspace where everything is Pack or Not–Pack and gloriously sharp and bright and sure, Fugaku and Shikuro and Minato are at our backs, outraged.

When we surface from it, Fugaku is before us with his hands empty and waiting steadily, Shikuro beside him in solidarity. Behind them both, Minato is trying to bundle Kushina up in his flak jacket and failing; we catch her eye in the middle of her thrashing.

“Shiga–sensei,” she exhales, her scent relieved. Shiromaru–and–I blink. I rub at my eyes.

“Four hours,” Shikuro helpfully responds, “thirty four minutes and fifty one seconds. A new record, sensei.”

“They took,” I growl out, Shiromaru baring his teeth with me, “one of _our students_.”

“We’re chuunin now, sensei,” Fugaku protests, but there’s the slight upward tilt to the corner of his mouth that means he’s smiling.

Behind us there’s someone muttering _What does she mean by ‘our students’_ and Shikuro raises his eyebrows at them, expression marvellously flat and only heightened by his glasses.

Shiromaru snickers and I step forward to hug Kushina, before the other gakis practically attempt to crush her ribs as well.

. . .

Uzumaki Kushina, I consider, in the dark of the night when everyone else is asleep save for Shiromaru who keeps watch on the tent entrance. Uchiha Fugaku. Aburame Shikuro, who is close to Aburame Shibi.

Hisoka hasn’t picked up a genin team yet, and neither has Sakumo, but Shisen–and–Kuraimaru have the Ino–Shika–Cho trio: Yamanaka Inoichi, Nara Shikaku, and Akimichi Chouza, who have often worked with Minato just because their teamwork lets him slot into the configuration effortlessly as a genius close– to mid–range ninjutsu and fuuinjutsu master.

Someone else had the Hyuuga twins, but this means that except for them, Shiromaru–and–I or someone that we know have, at some point, mentored all of the Greater Clan Heirs who will be inheriting in the next decade.

And since Jiraiya has Namikaze Minato who wants to – and has – specialized in fuuinjutsu, even the one that my dreams tell me will be the Yondaime Hokage.

. . .

Kami–sama, if you’re listening:

All I want is for these wars to end, and for my gakis to _live._

. . .

The Third Shinobi World War ends when Konohagakure burns Iwagakure out of the land and takes the fight to their doorstep, ranks bolstered by the Legendary Five: the _Densetsu no Sannin_ , the White Fang, and the Sealing Hounds.

 _Whose name_ , Shiromaru complains, _I still find ridiculous._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've updated after a little under two years?? A miracle.
> 
> I've learned a lot over the years, actually, about life, school, and writing. During that time I still thought about _Someday_ periodically, and more often when I succumbed to the desire to re-read Naruto fanfiction. And when Boruto came out, I started writing for it again out of pure spite.
> 
> I also went back and edited some stuff that was bothering me over the years, such as the chapter titles and summaries.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this next foray into _Someday_ 's universe.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, and welcome to **Someday We'll Leave the Light On**.
> 
> I've muddled through the nightmare that is Naruto fanfiction after the series ended, and couldn't find a lot of Inuzuka!OCs, which I thought was interesting. And what do you do when you can't find something you want? You write it, of course.
> 
> Hence, this fic.
> 
> I hope that "Shiromaru-and-I" didn't confuse people _too_ much; in the conversations where Shiga seems to be talking without quotation marks, she's largely speaking to Shiromaru, her ninken partner. So italics and no-quotations for those conversations is how I wrote this.
> 
> As you've noticed already, this is going to be majorly AU. Not only is Inuzuka Shiga learning fuuinjutsu alongside Jiraiya, she and Nara Hisoka are going to be acting as touchstones and grounders for one Hatake Sakumo.
> 
> (What will this mean? You'll have to wait and see, of course. c:)
> 
> Aside from canon pairings, this fic will largely be _gen_. **Someday** , as it's nicknamed, will be updated relatively often, as I have the plot mostly planned out and the muse to write it, as well as the time, now that midterms are over.
> 
> ...that should be it.
> 
> Please remember to leave a review, and safe travels,
> 
> \- dktsubani


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